


Just nest yourself down comfortable

by fvartoxin



Category: Batman (Comics), Holy Musical B@man - Team StarKid
Genre: Basil is a narcissist and it shows!, Don't ask what goes through my head on a daily basis because I really don't know., Established Relationship, Just bros being bros. With a side of technical infidelity., M/M, Nora vaguely mentioned, Not explicit but there's definitely content implied., Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin
Summary: We all make mistakes. Some more grievous than others.
Relationships: Clayface & Mr. Freeze, Clayface & Victor Fries, Victor Fries/Basil Karlo





	Just nest yourself down comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask, I wrote this in 4 hours; and this is by far my most recent work, only having been completed about a week ago. Is this canon to either 'verse I have these two in? Dubiously. The world may never know for sure. Also no, nothing in terms of Speaksverse [the Holy Musical AU] is RPF, that's disgusting lol.

This was a mistake, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. This couldn’t have been anything _but_ a mistake. 

Victor Fries was far less infallible than he had initially thought. 

To say the least possible about this situation, that was extremely disheartening. He wouldn’t excuse his actions. He wouldn’t even try. Living with the guilt for what remained of his hellishly long days, now _that_ was a fine option. On the bright side, he wasn’t alone in the feeling, and for a moment his eyes focused on the motionless beast besides him. 

At the weight of his icy gaze, the shapeshifter in the room stirred, a milky eye floating up to the top of a semi-liquid layer of flesh. “I sense now wouldn’t be the appropriate time to put on some Frank Sinatra, hmm?” All these years, and still neither of them had a clue how Basil was even remotely capable of physical speech. Yet there came a point where no one around him questioned it. He rose slightly off the pristine basement tile, wincing as only something without a real face could at the harsh lighting. 

Victor responded with a tired glare. “This,” he sighed, shoulders slumping, “is most certainly one of those times I have bitten off more than I can chew.” If the uncomfortable change in his internal temperature didn’t serve as an indication, what would? “Therefore, it would only be appropriate. In a sense.” He then returned to not looking at the other metahuman, instead resting his head in his hands. The workbench beneath him was cool, and he opted to focus on this rather than the nauseating burning in his veins. Far better to absorb himself in lab work once again.

“Considering I can’t reach the damned radio…” He didn’t verbally finish that thought, and instead began to hum. A few bars escaped his mouth before he cleared his throat. “It paints an apt picture, doesn’t it?” 

“ _What_.” Despite the typical flatness of his tone, he seemed genuinely puzzled. 

“Of you, rather,” he corrected. “You can’t tell me you haven’t had doubts throughout-“ he waved a feeler of an appendage that had just formed from nothing, “all of this. And I don’t mean just tonight, but I won’t mention her. Yet, what have you done about it? Don’t get me to start quoting ‘My Way’ verbatim, I’ll make a fool out of us both. You know damn well I don’t sing.” 

“It is too late in the evening for any of this.” It was an awfully weak protest, weak as he felt, weak as the agonized, wordless groan that had left his lips several minutes ago. Weak and shameful, in the way he could not hold Clayface’s blind gaze for long. 

“ _Regrets_ , you’ve had a few…” How silently the other was able to move should have been disturbing. Rather than touching Victor again, he hovered. (Victor, to his credit, didn’t feel disappointed.) “I don’t believe I need to bolster you any.” This was punctuated with a chuckle, tainted with nerves though it was. “And I certainly don’t mean to come off as a degenerate, but,” here he let out a world-weary huff. “ _Please_. Other married men have done far worse than you. This isn’t a statistic that’s going to change, bluejay. We’ve all had our moment of desperation, whether we’re bound in holy matrimony or otherwise. You’ve held strong some 60-so years. I’ve no doubt you’re going to continue doing so. Everyone makes mistakes, and I’d be lying if I said _I_ haven’t.” 

He thought back, lingering for just a moment too long on the feeling of flesh probing him through his clothing, almost tenderly searching areas that hadn’t been attended to in any deep manner in literal decades. Being palmed like a hormonal teenager, ha. He was past that. Wasn’t he? Unconsciously his chemical-grayed hands balled into fists, and he took a series of deep breaths, willing his pulse to steady. “This changes things,” he began, then faltered for about the second time in his life. As if the past several decades _hadn’t_? He muttered a curse under his breath, then continued. “You do not, no. I know my self-worth. And I am well aware of that, Karlo. As much as you are trying to help. If anything is clear, I should not have relented.” 

“And I shouldn’t have asked,” he replied, and folded a clawed hand over his exposed false ribcage. Nor should he have acted on impulse as he so often did, but that was beside the point. 

With one hand, he massaged his temples; then turned, moving the folding chair upon which he sat to face his closest friend. “No. You should not have,” he said dully, and craned his neck ever so slightly to lock eyes with Basil. “But this will not happen again. _It cannot_ , rather.” One pristine dress shoe clacked forcefully on the tile as he rose to his feet. He wobbled from the effort, but remained standing.

Despite Victor’s being several feet shorter than him, Basil (near-imperceptibly) shied away. “Hmph. And you think I don’t know this?” Despite his normally silvery tone, the query was taut. 

“I was merely restating.” In this lighting, no one was pleasant to the eye. Flaws were accentuated, and shadows lengthened for what seemed like miles. For a split second, Victor nearly looked his real age. There was a silence between the two; then he let out a shuddering sigh and seemed to fall into the actor’s sweltering embrace, crumpling to the floor below. “I am tired, Vasya. Tired of…” he let himself trail off for a moment, then continued, quieter. “Everything, in some manner. Is saying that so wrong.” 

He let out a pitying rumble, breath ruffling the other’s curly hair. “Certainly not. You’ve had quite a time; as much as you don’t need me to tell you _that_ either.” 

“ _Tch_. I feel as though I am a child again. The only difference is that it always was an ideal of a child.” He directed his eyes to the floor, and fell silent. They stayed like that for quite some time. That is, until Victor pointedly stuck a heel into Basil’s side. (Not that the man felt it, but it was more the principle of the thing.) “I do not wish to succumb to heatstroke. Please let go of me.” 

As always, he obliged without a second thought. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to clear your head, dear-” 

“I have _considered_ doing so, yes.” 

“-but, I’m sure the everyday citizens of Gotham would take issue with that. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.” There was an unspoken ‘always’ tacked onto the end of that sentence.


End file.
